DROWNING: A BEN Drowned Story
by Random Person who Likes Combs
Summary: Lungs heavy, filled with cold. Blackness, Blindness, Burning. Forlorn fate of 15 year old, and lust for revenge still yearning. Clawing, Climbing, Reaching, Praying, for a chance to stay alive. And yet I sink from Father's betraying, and lose my sorry life. This is the story of BEN before he died. Debating whether or not I should continue. Sorry for typos. BEN DROWNED CREEPYPASTA


**DROWNING**

_**Lungs heavy, filled with cold**_

_**Blackness, Blinding, Burning,**_

_**Forlorn fate of fifteen year old**_

_**And lust for revenge still yearning. **_

_**Clawing, Climbing, Reaching, Praying**_

_**For a chance to stay alive**_

_**But yet I sink, from Father's betraying**_

_**And lose my sorry life.**_

The wind picked up, making my pale, white hair stir against my forehead. The moon was full, hung high in the sky, stars twinkling brightly as they dotted the darkness above. The lake. The very lake stood before me, still and glossy, not a single ripple or disturbance on its mirror like surface. So smooth, it was as if another world was inside of it. I could see the trees around the edges, the bright and beautiful moon, all of those stars. The charred remains of the cabin that stood across the lake, by the shore.

Every time I closed my eyes was torture. Even blinking was torture. That small moment of empty blackness was filled with the horrible images of my twisted past. Flames, burning, eating away at the small wooden home, while the cold and unforgiving water of the very lake I stood before sucked me down, pulled me down, and swallowed me in its vast cruelty.

Slowly, I walked forward to the edge of the lake. Despite its beauty, I couldn't help but hate it, fear it, wish it never existed. It had taken everything away from me. With each step, my reflection became clearer, larger. I studied myself. This person I saw staring back at me from the lake's surface.

Pale, white hair. Pale, almost grey skin. But I avoided looking at the worst part of myself. My eyes. I didn't want to see them, despite the fact that their appearance was burned into my head. Black, Empty, save for two glowing blood red pupils in their center.

Maybe, with caution, I could have passed for a normal human, but my eyes took that chance away. They branded me as a creature, an inhuman being. The thought of that made my stomach turn. Just being here hurt. In these very woods, in this very clearing… By this very lake. Even though it's been years, it still hurts just to be here, just to have the vivid memories replay in my mind. And I guess it always will. How could they not? Because this was the place where my already shattered world crumbled apart into nothing.

\\\\\\\\ l /

I was born June 23rd, 1994. I was only around 5 pounds, very small, something like that. I've always been small and weak for my age. The first five years of my life were perfect. Out of a fairy tale. My mother was amazing, beautiful, and blonde with blue eyes. Everyone always said how much we looked alike, for I had inherited her light eyes and hair. We were inseparable. I loved her so much… I was so young, yet I remember everything about her to this very day. She was my world.

My father was a kind man. We didn't look alike, and I never spent as much time with him as I did with Mom, but I loved him still. My memories with him were full of happiness, trips to the zoo, sitting on his shoulders and being read bedtime stories.

At least they used to be.

Life was so simple. So perfect.

Too simple. Too perfect.

It was late one night. Rain was pouring was pouring. I was spending the night with my Grandmother. However, I being a little shy scaredy cat when I was little, before all of this happened, I was naturally afraid and wanted to go home. I asked Gramma to call my Mom and have her come pick me up.

I will never regret a decision more than that one.

It was my entire fault. If I could just suck it up… If I could have just been strong. She wouldn't have gotten in the car. She wouldn't have lost control… Mom… She wouldn't have…..

Died.

She wouldn't have died. She would still be alive today if it weren't for me. My father agreed. After the death of his wife, he was no longer warm and forgiving, kind and gentle. He was cold. When I needed him the most, he wasn't there. He blamed me for Mom's death more then I blamed myself.

At first, He was inactive. Unresponsive. Cold. He wasn't there. Never spoke to me, didn't do anything. I thought nothing could ever be worse.

Ha. Silly me.

That quickly changed. By the time I was six, he had taken an abusive turn. He still blamed me for everything, Mom's death, the depression he went through. On a good day, he pretended I didn't exist. On a bad day, he left me dotted with bruises and new injuries. I spent my nights curled up in bed, crying, wishing that I could go back in time and fix everything, wishing that Mom would come back to protect me.

When I was 7, my horrible father remarried to a woman who was just as cruel was he was. I felt as if the world was against me. Day after day, I stayed locked in my room, afraid to leave. Every time I stepped out of that door to get food or use the bathroom, it was a risk. A chance that for me to run into my terrifying father or evil stepmother. A chance that I was going to get hit, punished, beaten, blamed, abused physically or verbally.

"You're a disgusting child, Benjamin." They would tell me. "Nothing more than a failure of a human being. You're an exception to the right to life and liberty." They would say with sneers and evil grins.

Being so young, I could never wrap my head around it. I could never understand. Why did they hate me so much? How long will they continue to treat me like this? Will I ever be able to get out of this horrible house, this horrible home? Every day I woke up was another day, another battle, another day I wished I didn't wake.

Then… HE just had to come along. Making everything worse. I was only 8 years old when HE was born.

My half-brother, Matthew. Oh Matthew.

How I hated him.

It's not like he could help what he did to me. Like he knew what he did to me. But I hated it all the same.

First, he took my room. I had left one day to use the bathroom, and returned to find my stepmom throwing away all of my things.

"W-what are you d-doing?!" I whimpered. My room was my safe haven! They… They weren't supposed to do this!

"We have to get rid of this useless junk. The Baby is coming and we need another room."

"W-what h-happened to the g-guest room?!" I said, wide eyed. She looked at me like I was an idiot.

"We need it for the guests, Benjamin. Do I need your father to come in here?!"  
"N-No! P-Please no!"

"Well then. You'll be staying in the attic. So get your blankets and go."

I was too afraid to disobey. My father scared me more than anything else in the world. So I quietly, holding back tears, grabbed my blankie, pillows, and one old teddy bear my mother gave me long ago, and left what used to be my sanctuary. I ascended the stairs to the old, dusty attic, and curled up on the floor, holding my knees as I let the tears fall down my face.

Eventually I grew used to my new 'room'. But I never forgave Matthew for taking my room away from me, and forcing me to live in the attic like some creature. But that wasn't it. That wasn't the only reason why I hated him so much.

Everyone loved Matthew. He was treated like a king. Spoiled. Given anything he wanted. My father was the same kind, gentle, and loving person he used to be to me. And that made me hate Matthew even more.

Stupid Matt. He had his mother, his father; he had life handed to him on a silver platter. Bitterness sunk deep into my heart. While he slept sweetly in MY bedroom, I was left in the attic, with my arms around my knees, whispering to myself so the silence wouldn't consume me.

"It'll be okay, Ben…" I would tell myself. "You'll get out of here. When you're old enough, you'll run away. You'll find people who love you, and you'll be happy… You just have to get out alive…."

Years passed. Matthew and I grew older. Him, sweet and kind, living in a world of light and love, while I grew bitter and cold, an empty shell. I had learned to mask my feelings from the rest of the world. They were just a weakness.

There were a few things that were nice. I found an old TV one day in the attic. Dusted it off, plugged it in, and it still worked. Sadly, it didn't have any channels. Only static.

But, when Matthew got a new PS2 for his 6th birthday one year, (I was 14) I was given his old Nintendo 64 and his old games. They were the best thing that could have happened to me. Now, instead of being lost in my head, slowly driven to insanity day after day, I had something to do with myself.

Most of the games were easy, not really interesting. But my favorite was by far Legend of Zelda, Majora's Mask. It was so difficult and mysterious, it wasn't long before the majority of my day was spent huddled up in my room, playing the game.

But that summer, everything changed.

"BEN! COME DOWNSTAIRS NOW!" I heard my stepmother call from the living room. With a huff, I set down my controller and trudged down the steps.

"Y-Yes? Is there something you need me to do?"

"Pack your things, we're leaving." She snapped. I was slightly annoyed. She told me to come downstairs for her to tell me to go back upstairs to pack? Not that I let it show. Any 'disrespectful look' was an instant smack to the face. So I just nodded and went upstairs again to pack.

Where were we going? What was going on? Questions ran through my mind. I was never taken anywhere. So what were they doing? Sending me off to an orphanage? Finally…

But to my surprise, when I came downstairs with my few possessions, I saw them all packing the car. "Where are we going?" I asked, clutching my one backpack tighter.

"Down to the lake." My father replied shortly.

I instantly understood. They're going on a vacation, so they were only taking me along because they didn't trust me enough to leave me home alone. And nobody would babysit for a 15 year old… That's a little ridiculous.

Matthew tugged on my sleeve cheerily. "I told Daddy I wanted to go to the lake, so he said we could! And now you get to come along, too!"

I ignored him, pulling my arm away from the 7 year old. Whatever. It was so annoying how he gets anything he wants. It almost made me want to puke.

I threw my backpack in the trunk of the car, and soon we were all climbing in for the trip.

Today was a good day. I was mostly ignored… That is except for Matt. The entire hour long car trip was spent being kicked, pinched, and poked by the younger boy. But if I even made a threat, or even told him to stop, I would only get hurt even worse. So I sat patiently with a blank expression until we arrived at the campsite.

My father had rented a cabin in a clearing by the edge of the lake. My breath hitched when I saw the sight. It was utterly beautiful… I had never seen anything like it. The lake was still, the trees tall and a deep evergreen… A small dock went out into the deep section of the lake… It seemed like something out of a magazine.

The first thing Matt wanted to do was to go swimming, so my mother helped him find his swim trunks. Matt had taken swimming lessons last month, but I never had been taught, so while Matt doggy-paddled around, I just stood knee deep in the water, staying by the edge of the lake.

Around noon, dreary clouds seemed to cover the sky, so we all made our way back inside before the rain began to fall.

My stepmom showed me my room. My own room. A REAL room. I couldn't stop the smile twitched at the corner of my lips. Can you say best vacation ever?! I don't think it is possible for me to be even more wrong.

I remember everything so clearly. Every last detail. I remember I was reading a book, laying on what had to be the most comfortable bed I had ever lain on, when… Dad came in...

"Ben… We need to have a talk." He said coldly. I glanced up at him from my book. This day just kept getting weirder. So, now my father wants to acknowledge that I exist? I began to felt uneasy… The look in his eyes was… darker… than usual. But I just shook it off and stood up.

"Yes, Father?"

"Why don't we go have a walk by the lake…?"

"B-But…. Dad… It's…. It's raining…"

"Did I ASK you what the WEATHER was?"  
"N-No… I-…I-I'm sorry..." I whimpered, hanging my head.

"That's what I thought. Now come on, let's go outside."

I felt strange as I followed him out of my room and to the front door. I had a… foreboding feel… Like something bad was bound to happen. Yet, I always felt that way around my dad, so I just shook it off again and followed him outside.

We both stood in the rain. I had pulled the hood up to my old jacket to try and keep myself from being completely soaked, but my father didn't even seem to care. We stood in awkward silence for a few moments, until my father spoke up.

"Do you even remember Ben? Do you even remember your mother?" My father asked suddenly. It caught me off guard. What? Dad NEVER, EVER talked about Mom anymore... This was definitely strange.

"Y-Yeah… I do… She was… Amazing…" I responded quietly. How could I NOT remember? She was all I thought about. She was the only thing that kept me going sometimes… the thought of her…

"Do you remember how she died?" He asked. I looked down, lifting a hand to wipe away the tears that had begun to collect at the corners of my eyes. I would rather he just hit me and let me alone, because this hurt even worse. No matter how many years it's been, it will always hurt.

"Do you?!" he pried. Even if I wanted to respond, I couldn't. My throat was all choked up from the tears I was struggling to keep down.

"Well then. Let me remind you. You killed her. You were selfish, you were the reason why she went out on to the road that night, and you were the reason why she crashed and died." He said bluntly. Those words were like knives through my heart. It hurt just to hear them.

"W-What do you want?!" I cried, wiping a few more tears away. "Are you j-just doing t-this to hurt me!? Are y-you just d-doing this f-for a different w-way to abuse me?!" I said, looking down.

"No, Ben. I am just reminding you, so that you know why I am going to do this…" He said in a deep, dark voice.

Before I could comprehend what was happening, my father turned and punched me hard enough in the stomach to make my crumple to the ground.

"My entire life has been dealing with you and your stupid mistakes, Ben!" He snarled, as I clutched my stomach, coughing and wheezing. "And I've decided that I am done dealing with you, and it's about time I finally got rid of you instead!"

My eyes widened. No, this couldn't be happening. But, while I was still struggling to catch my breath, he grabbed my legs, and began to drag me towards the water.

No.

No.

No!

NO!

ANYTHING BUT THIS! ANYTHING BUT DEATH!

I began to flail about, but there was nothing I could do. I was born weak, and small. And all those years of being locked away and not doing anything didn't help, either. Even as a 15 year old, I couldn't compare to my father's brute force.

When I began to flail too much, Father dropped my legs and stomped on my stomach. It was too much to handle. I coughed with whimpered with pain. But no matter how hard I tried, kicked, cried out, I couldn't do anything…

Eventually, I realized where we were going. I felt the drag of rough wood across my back. The dock. He was dragging me out to the small dock that led out to the deep parts of the lake.

"N-No! P-PLEASE! D-Dad, I s-swear! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I-I'LL DO A-ANYTHING!" I cried. But he ignored my pleas.

"Goodbye, Ben….." He said coldly.

"N-NO! DAD! PLEASE!"

"I'll see you in hell…" 

And using all of his strength, he stomped on my stomach one last time to disorient me before flinging my body out into the cold deep waters of the lake.

I flailed about, sinking deeper and deeper. My jeans, shoes, jacket, all dragged my down further and further through the icy water. I held my breath, struggling to get to the surface, until I couldn't hold it anymore and instinctively gasped for breath. The stinging icy cold water filled my lungs, dragging me down further. The world began to grow hazy. I was hurting and cold and… and…

So angry. 

I was never more enraged in any other moment in my short life. What the hell did I do to deserve this?! Nobody, let alone me, deserved such a wretched horrible life. The bitterness that had sunk into my heart and soul for all those years seemed to explode. Everything. Everything that had been done to me was unfair, unjust…

But now, in some sort of twisted peace, it would all end. And no matter where I went, heaven or hell, anything was better than here in this world.

So I counted the minutes of suffering, waiting for death to come and take me.

Why wasn't I dead yet?  
That very question kept running through my mind. My body had long since sunk to the bottom of the lake, and yet, I was still alive. Still awake. Still suffering through what had to be the most intense and horrible pain I had experienced in all of my life. Something wasn't right. After a few minutes of being under water, my vision had blacked out for a few moments, but after simply blinking a few times, I gained my clear sight. I was still in a ton of pain… but why wasn't I dead?

Eventually, I couldn't take the pain anymore. And I figured if I just began to move, I would be able to get myself to the edge of the lake and make it out of this watery hell-hole. So I began to drag myself through the thick muddy, grimy layer of gunk, until I felt an upward slope. This must be it. My way out.

After what seemed like hours, months, years, of my lungs burning full of icy cold water, my weak limbs pulling myself upward, and the ice cold water soaking and saturating my bones, I dragged myself to the edge of the lake and coughed up lungful after lungful of water.

For a few moments, I lay there on the ground, gasping for sweet breath and trying to regain my focus.

Father. How could you. I knew you hated me, but this much? What kind of sick man would kill his own flesh and blood?!  
I sat up, snarling at the thought. When something caught my eye. I looked down at my hands… and they were…. They were… Grey? What? Was it the lighting that made them seem this way? I checked my arms, and sure enough, they were the dreary color. My mind wandered back to my drowning experience.

How the hell am I still alive? This can't be possible.

Did I die?  
Am I dead?

Am I … A ghost?

I dragged myself away from the lake, gasping for breath still, before looking up. To my surprise… I was right in front of the cabin…

Hatred boiled through my veins. I hated them all so much. My stepmom, and her horrible cruelty. She never treated me right, even though I had never done anything wrong to her. Matt. The favorite little child. He had everything I didn't, and acted like it wasn't special.

And my father. There was a special place of hatred in my heart for him. All those years…. All those DAMN years of torture, abuse... I wanted him to feel all the pain I did in my short horrible life. I clenched my fists. I wanted them to burn in hell. All of them.

Suddenly, my hands, as if doused in gasoline and lit with a match, burst into flames. I gasped in fear and fell back, but they didn't go out.

After a few moments, I realized that my hands were not in pain… It was as if…. I had made the flames appear.

What was this?! Some stupid sort of power I received because…. Because…

Because I was dead.

I really was, wasn't I? Those few moments when I was blacked out…. That was my death, wasn't it? I glanced up at the cabin before me.

"…All of you… You did this to me, when I deserved nothing unjust to be done!" I said coldly under my breath.

"And then… You have the gall to say I am horrible… That I am the one that deserves to die… You…. You…." I snarled, focusing all of my hatred on that one cabin. That one place.

"You shouldn't have done that."

And the same as with my hands, the cabin lit like tinder wood, engulfed in bright, hot flames.

And I stood there watching, grinning. I didn't care. They all deserved it. They deserved to feel all of my pain, all of my fear and terror and confusion. For they had taken my life.

So what's stopping me from taking theirs?

\\\\\\\\ l /

I opened my eyes, still staring down at the glossy surface of the lake. Ever since that night, I've been this way… A ghost, left to wander the world, haunted by my own memories, actions, thoughts, ideas. Never left to forget who I am… What I am…

To this day, I can't bear to touch a glass of water. I will never forget how deadly, horrifying, unforgiving water can be. While some say it's the center of life… To me… It will always be the center of death.

I still remember the news reports. Strange case of arson, family cabin burnt to the ground. The only survivor was the youngest son, Matthew. The body of the oldest son never found.

They never found out what happened to Ben… until they interrogated the youngest son.

It was said he only responded with a single phrase.

"Ben… Ben didn't burn…

Ben _Drowned_."

_**And so I do admit, with a sigh, **_

_**That my humanity's past. **_

_**But still, I always fall apart**_

_**At a simple water-filled glass.**_


End file.
